


i'm nothing special

by tchihara



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, making these gays communicate because they cant seem to do it themselves, set after ep 8 ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29896293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tchihara/pseuds/tchihara
Summary: What the fuck?Did Reki hear that wrong, or something? Langa saying he likeshim—it’s such a laughable thought that it makes him snort on instinct. “Very funny. No you don’t.”or: langa likes reki. reki doesn't believe it.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki
Comments: 8
Kudos: 296





	i'm nothing special

**Author's Note:**

> hi renga haven't left my brain for the past 9 weeks soooo don't mind me just contributing to their angst tag LOL fun fact this is actually based on a real experience i had with an irl. self esteem issues gang wya
> 
> title is from [jealous](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zY-5hnbOLg8) by eyedress haha it makes me think abt reki. it hurts. :)

Reki feels pathetic.

He _is_ pathetic, with the way he’s consciously pushing Langa away only to want him back so desperately that it makes him feel worse. It’s a stupid, ridiculous, neverending cycle of self-sabotage. He hates it, but he thinks he hates his own inability to keep up more.

Still, Reki can’t find it in his heart to blame anyone but himself. He tried to place it on Langa, at first, but somehow it just made him feel worse. Probably because he knew it was a lie the entire time.

He watches autoplay load the next video on his phone with glazed eyes. He can’t remember any of the tricks he’s seen in the past three compilation videos that have played, but without S consuming his nights it’s not like he has anything else to be doing at one in the morning on a Wednesday.

For a moment, Reki feels the phantom of a body pressed along his side. Of warmth seeping through layers of clothes into his skin, comforting and welcome. Of soft hair strands tickling the side of his neck every time one of them leaned forward to scrutinize a particular trick. Of cool puffs of air dancing along his collarbones when they sit for too long and both start to droop onto each other in exhaustion.

He misses Langa.

So, of course, as soon as he puts words to the unrelenting hurt that’s been running amok in his chest, all he gets as warning is a momentary light scraping sound coming from outside before a familiar blue-haired head appears in his window.

He gapes, dumbfounded, as Langa wordlessly stumbles through the opening with the kind of graceful clumsiness Reki’s never seen anyone but him have. He maneuvers his skateboard through like it’s porcelain instead of something that gets purposefully beat up multiple times daily, and when he finally comes to a stop in Reki’s room he holds it gently rather than setting it off to the side like he usually does. For a fantastical second, Reki lets himself imagine that it’s because he made it.

“Reki,” Langa starts, but the spoken words worm their way under Reki’s skin and unfreeze his stiffened body, and he doesn’t let Langa finish.

“What are you doing here?” he bursts, knocked out of the apathy he’s tried to wear around Langa the past few days. Panic abruptly seizes his throat in a vice grip, because he _isn’t ready to talk yet,_ and his voice comes out cracking. “Shouldn’t you be at S right now? I thought the tournament—”

“Reki,” Langa repeats, urgent, and the words die in his throat.

Langa’s green eyes are wide and shining, the way he gets when he skates—it’s far from how he’s been looking during school the past few days, sad and confused and making Reki want to give in to the urge to turn around with an apology and a plea for forgiveness on his lips, but now Langa is gazing at him like he hung the moon.

Reki is smacked, violently, with the realization that he’s only wearing a pajama shirt. The missing layer of hoodie makes him feel far more exposed than he wants to be, and he draws his knees up to his chest.

“I like you.”

He—

Pause.

“What, like, _romantically?”_

A nod.

_What the fuck?_

Did Reki hear that wrong, or something? Langa saying he likes _him_ —it’s such a laughable thought that it makes him snort on instinct. “Very funny. No you don’t.”

“I do,” Langa insists. He looks off-puttingly genuine, but Reki knows for a fact that even the mere idea of it is impossible. Langa liking him back... he hasn’t ever entertained the possibility for more than a few seconds at a time, it’s so far from reality.

Langa could have literally anyone else he wanted. Hell, he’s even got some creepy middle-aged skating psycho after him, and he’s gone so far as to make it clear that Reki doesn’t take priority over even _him._ In all honesty, Langa’s probably being put up to this by Miya or Shadow just so they can tease Reki. Maybe they think they can bully him into coming out of hiding, or something. If they even want him back.

“Ha, ha,” he manages. His heart pangs, a little bit, and he wishes they’d decided to fuck with him in literally any other way than this. “Not falling for it. You can leave now.”

“My mom said I need to be honest with you about my feelings,” Langa tells him, earnest, and now that’s just _unfair._ If he’s talking about his mother, then that means that he might be—no. Reki isn’t anywhere near talented enough for someone to like him, let alone Langa. It’s ridiculous to even think about. But...

“Are you messing with me right now?” There’s doubt creeping into his voice, and he can feel the weight of his fake lightheartedness growing heavier by the second. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

“No.” Langa’s voice is stern, unyielding; his gaze is hard and determined, as though the idea of lying hasn’t even crossed his mind. It’s the same way he looked when he asked Reki for a job, way back when they first met: like he thinks that if he just plants his feet and keeps pushing further and further he’ll get to where he wants to be.

Like he doesn’t want to give up.

That’s what makes it hit Reki, finally, that Langa is actually being serious. That Langa likes him. Langa is _confessing_ to him right now, and Reki has been sitting here trying to shrug him off like an idiot the entire time.

It feels like a bucket of ice water is being dumped on top of his head as his entire body rages with a fever, shivering and burning up all at once. Langa is saying he wants to kiss Reki, and date Reki, and hold Reki’s hand, and... fuck. _And._

But it doesn’t add up.

“Why?” he blurts. A week ago, he might’ve been fishing for compliments. But his confidence has been lost to the wind, all along nothing more than a mere illusion, and whatever Langa thinks he sees—Reki can’t imagine it being there.

“I miss you,” Langa breathes. “Skating isn’t fun without you.”

_Fun?_

Langa isn’t making sense. Reki’s not the one that he’s competing with—even if he was, Langa would win by a landslide. There would hardly be a competition at all. How does _Reki_ contribute to Langa’s idea of fun?

He turns away. Bitterness leaks through his veins, hot and ugly as it boils away the beginnings of hope. “I thought that’s what skating against ADAM was for. Exhilaration, or whatever.”

“No,” Langa says, and he sounds desperate. “It isn’t about winning, remember? It’s about wanting to have fun.”

Reki remembers. He remembers thinking that, seconds before ADAM turned his board around on the course and launched Reki into an ER visit.

“Yeah,” Reki bites, “with the _best skater out there._ You’re all on a whole different planet than me, Langa. I’m obviously never going to be anywhere near you guys’ level, so what’s the point?”

“I don’t need to compete with you to have fun.” Langa’s fingertips are bruised white where they dig into the griptape of his skateboard. “I just need you to be there.”

Reki scoffs, disbelieving. If Langa was willing to break their promise to chase feelings of _fun,_ then it’s clear that Reki doesn’t have any role in that. Why would that change?

He doesn’t say anything, and the moment draws out long and tense. Then: “Snowboarding stopped being fun without Dad, too.” For the first time all night, Langa looks vacant. “Skating feels empty now.”

The words feel like a slap across the face. “Langa, I—I’m not _dead,”_ he says, a little horrified.

“But I feel like I’m losing you,” Langa replies, as honest as ever, and Reki feels the dam break.

“I—” He chokes around a sob, and through the tears pooling in his eyes he sees Langa looking like a deer caught in headlights. “You— _fuck_ you. Fuck you. I’m supposed to be _mad_ at you. You broke our promise, and you're leaving me behind with—with everyone else, and I don’t—”

“I wouldn’t ever leave you behind,” Langa cuts him off, determined, even as his brows pinch together and he carefully props his board against the wall before stepping forward. His hand lands in Reki’s hair with a level of hesitance reserved for those who have no idea what they’re doing, and Reki wants to laugh at his awkwardness, but the fact that _Langa_ —sweet, oblivious, emotionally constipated Langa—is even trying to comfort him at all squeezes his heart painfully.

“Screw you,” Reki mumbles, but he doesn’t shove Langa away. He’s so, so tired of shoving him away. Instead he just tugs him down to sit on the bed, pressing his head against his shoulder and hoping he’ll figure out the rest.

Langa does, kind of. His forearms rest on his thighs but he shifts so that he can lean his head atop Reki’s like they sometimes do when they hang out together. It feels achingly familiar, and Reki wonders if Langa missed this as much as he did.

He reaches out to clasp his hand, hesitant, and Langa interlocks their fingers in a wordless comfort. He still doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but as long as Langa stays here he thinks it’ll be alright. Anything seems possible, with him.

He gazes down, fascinated by the way Langa’s pale arm stands out against his amidst the shadows of the room, a soft glow in the blackness. He tightens his grip as he gently lifts his head, and when Langa turns to him with a question in his eyes he says what he’s wanted to since the very first day Langa skated.

“I like you, Langa. A lot,” he whispers, soft and secret and made for no one but the two of them to hear. It feels like a promise, brand new and wonderful, and when they kiss Reki’s heart soars with Langa among fireworks.


End file.
